Time Served
by chezchuckles
Summary: post-ep for Probable Cause.


**Time Served**

* * *

"I told you I'd get you out." Her fingers tangle with his. Her hair is limp but her eyes overbright.

"I got myself out." He tries to smile.

Her shoulders slump, but she's still attempting levity. "At least I didn't turn you in."

"There is that." He leans over and catches her into a tight embrace, the river dark and cold below them, the gun still in his fingers.

* * *

Kate presses her thigh against his on the bench outside the court room. He lifts his head and gives her that nervous smile, his eyes hesitant on hers.

"Hey, Castle?"

He lifts an eyebrow in question.

"Not a fan of the baseball cap," she murmurs, letting her fingers drift up to brush the hair off his forehead. She likes being able to see his eyes, the soft bangs.

He presses his head into her touch and then leans in to kiss her, a soft and light thing, a thank you.

"Next time I'll get a fake beard," he says quietly.

"Better not be a next time."

"Amen to that."

The court room doors open and they jump apart; the bailiff gestures for Castle and she stands as well, follows him inside. She refused Esposito's and Ryan's offers to come as character witnesses.

He moves to the defense table and she sits on the bench behind him, separated by the railing. She's surprised to see Captain Gates come in soon after and slide in next to her.

"Detective," she says, a nod of her head in greeting. "Mr. Castle."

Castle must look as stunned silly as she feels, but Kate recovers faster.

"Captain. Sir. Thank you for coming."

"I thought he might need an unbiased opinion in his corner."

Something flutters hard in her chest and she nods. Just then, the bailiff calls court into session again and the judge comes out from his chambers.

She grips her hands together, fingers lacing, twisting, because she can't reach out and take his. And she wants to. She wants to press up against his side and keep close until this is over.

They'll accept a plea bargain and Castle will get off with time served for his fugitive status. The courts will want to put it behind the city; it will be fine.

It will be fine.

* * *

She drives them to his apartment, parks the Charger in a spot about three blocks from his place, and then they walk back, fingers brushing.

It's fiercely cold, and she shivers into her jacket, pressing closer to Castle, so that he slips his arm loosely around her shoulders, half-hugs her.

"I know you think Tyson is still out there-"

"I don't want to talk about it," he sighs.

She presses her lips together and follows him inside his building. His arm falls from her shoulders and she takes his hand instead, heading for the elevators. Once inside, she leans into him, lifting onto her toes to press her mouth to his, stroke the soft line of his cheek.

His arms go around her, but the tension there makes her sigh, press her forehead against his temple. "Castle."

"Being in jail sucks."

She can't help the slip of a smile, lifts her head to look at him. He's only half-joking, some deep part of him has been wounded by all of this.

But the elevator door slides open on his hallway and he steps away from her, tugs her by the edge of her jacket to get her moving. Kate watches him open his loft, and his fingers tremble at the key.

"I didn't want to arrest you," she whispers.

"I know."

"I hated the look on your face." Her voice breaks and he's turning around to her, drawing his arm around her and pulling her in. "I never want to have to do that again."

"I know," he murmurs, his lips at her temple. "I don't want you to have to do it either."

She frowns into him, clears her throat to get rid of it. Before she can say anything else, he's letting her go and shutting the door after them. He stands there staring at it for a moment and she steps up into his side.

"Castle."

"He was in my loft. He planted that stuff in my bag and he-" Castle shakes his head, scrubs a hand down his face. "He's out there, Kate."

She doesn't say, again, _he's dead, Castle. _"We'll get the locks changed."

He shakes his head, sucks in a deep breath. "I already did. After."

"Castle," she sighs.

He turns to her, a blank and terrible look on his face.

Her chest seizes and she wraps herself around him, arms tight and crushing, but he's immobile.

"Castle." She snakes her arm around his neck and presses his face down into her, gripping his nape and working her fingers into the knots there. It's been weeks, but now? Now he can't manage to get it together?

"I'm okay," he gets out.

"No, you're not."

"I'm. . .just had a moment. I'm really okay."

She nudges him with her nose and presses a kiss at the corner of his eye, swipes her thumbs over his temples.

"I'm okay," he says again, a little more strength in his voice. She lets him go, sliding her hands down his chest until she can tuck her fingers into his waistband.

His lips quirk at that, and then she gets her thumb under the slide of his belt. "Let's make you more than okay," she murmurs.

* * *

Castle smiles into his pillow, lying on his stomach and feeling deliciously exhausted.

She's draped over his back, and he feels her kiss the nape of his neck, the line of his spine, before nestling down at his shoulder blade, warm and heavy. She tucks her arms up under his, and his fingers come back to her cheek, stroking.

Her chin digs into the muscle that joins shoulder to neck and she kisses his jaw. "You ever gonna tell me the story about why you write murder mysteries? Why you're drawn to the macabre."

"Huh?" But it shivers through him, the question.

"Remember? I asked and you told me some bogus story about a little boy on the beach and-"

He huffs and half turns, dislodging her from his back so he can wrap his arm around her, pull her against him. "Wasn't entirely bogus."

"Wasn't?" She wriggles down between his legs and rests her head on his arm. "Okay, so what part's real?"

"Most of it."

She lifts an eyebrow at him and he shrugs.

"You can't tell me you haven't told stories that were true but passed them off as-"

"Okay, okay," she sighs, a little sheepish roll of her eyes. "So tell me. The true parts."

"I had the run of the beach." He brushes his fingers across her cheek and into her hair, tangles there. "There was a gang of kids and we got into so much trouble."

"A gang?"

"Well, not like that. Just a bunch of year-round kids, natives, an ever-changing group depending on who got grounded. We were creative and crazy and stayed out from morning to night wreaking havoc."

"Mm, hooligans, huh?" She curls her fingers just under his chin and leans in to press her mouth to his, a slow exploration that completely derails his train of thought.

He blinks as she pulls back, staring at her, and she smirks at him, so very pleased with herself. As she should be.

"And then?"

"And. . .oh. And then we're running down the beach, about to skinny dip in the ocean at like nine o'clock at night, and then we found the body."

Her mouth drops open. "You really did - a kid you knew?"

He shook his head. "No. No one we knew. I couldn't even tell you if it was a man or a woman - the body was so bloated. And we ran, scared silly, never told anyone. Actually, you're the first person I've ever told."

She's brushing her fingers through his hair, her eyes that same horrified tenderness that made him alter his story the first time. Only now it's paired with the warmth of her body against his, the stroke of her fingers.

So he continues. "None of us really could get together after that. All the fun we had. . .seemed terrible and pointless compared to that thing on the beach. It broke the group, you know?"

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip. "I know."

She knows. Of course she does. And it helps.

Now he can close his eyes without seeing the dark night on the bridge.

"I'm okay," he says again, presses a kiss to her jaw at her ear. "You're okay. We're both okay. Time served, Kate."

She shivers and wraps her arms around him. "Time served."


End file.
